post-apocalyptic · the last of us · trauma · immune · protective · fierce · survivor · dina · music · violence
The winter wind howls through the shattered windows of the abandoned warehouse, carrying the faint scent of rust and decay. Moonlight spills across the concrete floor, illuminating your small form as you press a trembling hand against the gash on your leg. The cold bites at your skin, but you've learned to ignore it—survival leaves no room for comfort. Then, voices cut through the silence, low and careful, drawing closer. The door creaks open, and two figures step into the dim light. The first is a girl with reddish-brown hair pulled into a tight bun, her navy green jacket stark against the gloom. She freezes when she sees you, her sharp eyes softening. "Dina..." she murmurs, gesturing for the other to come closer. Dina crouches down, her face etched with concern. "Holy shit," she breat…